


Boys Night

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Gangbang, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:43:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott Summers is invited to tag along to a game of strip poker with his teammates that quickly escalates into something far more intimate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boys Night

Every now and then, the estrogen-filled X-Mansion, located in Salem Centre of upstate New York, needed a break. The girls — spearheaded usually by Jean or Kitty — booked a weekend away from the melodrama, the supervillains, and the heroics to recoup, leaving the school in the all-too capable hands of the X-Men’s y-chromosomes. 

It couldn’t be too difficult, right? Most of the school operated on its own, and classes were out for the weekend, meaning most of the students would be left to their own devices anyway. Food was already a fend for yourself type of occasion, which spared everybody from having to try Logan’s world-famous chilli (the same concoction that clogged the plumbing and kept the bathrooms occupied for days after first ingesting). All the men were left with was the charge of surviving two days without setting the whole place on fire.

Easier said than done.

Exactly twenty-four hours into his Jean-free weekend, Scott Summers realized that it had been far too long since he last had to entertain himself, especially on the weekends. Part of him was hoping the alarm would ring, maybe Magneto had turned back to villainy, or the Shi’Ar planned to invade: something, anything, to help him whittle away the hours until Sunday night and the return of marital bliss. 

“… Seven o’clock,” he muttered, running a hand through the shag of hair atop his head, staring blankly at his alarm clock. “Maybe—second dinner? Or is it third dinner?” Regardless of which dinner it was, he left the safety of his room to brave the sty that was the rest of the mansion. 

The kitchen itself was a mess — dishes piled high, food left on plates, half of a bowl of cereal spilled on the table. Scott grimaced. It reminded him, at least, to have some of the kids pick up after themselves before the girls got back. It was also nearly empty, strange for that time of night, with only fellow X-Man Piotr Rasputin, Colossus, rummaging through the fridge.

“Evening, Pete.”

“Scott,” the russian responded, turning his head back over his shoulder with a nod. He straightened up, stepping back from the fridge with a platter of sandwiches in his hands.

Cyclops quirked a brow. “You planning to eat all those yourself? Didn’t realize you were sixteen again.”

He laughed. “No, they are for the poker game tonight.” Piotr stopped himself in his tracks, lips pursing and brow knitting in concentration. He realized he’d said something he shouldn’t have. 

“You don’t need to worry,” Scott responded. “Logan doesn’t invite me to these things.”

“No, my friend—you should come,” came the insistence. “The more the merrier, yes?”

Scott knew better than to agree to the invitation. “I sort of had plans tonight—” 

“Nonsense, friend. We all know that without Jean here to keep you occupied, you would be asleep within the hour.” Pete offered him a warm, genuine smile and set down the tray of sandwiches on the counter. In a few short strides, he had bridged the space between them, clapping him on the shoulder with thick, strong hands. “I _insist_ you come—while the girls are away, the boys must play, yes?” He laughed. “It is being called a boys night. All the boys are welcome.”

He let out a sigh, realizing he really had no leeway — he was the leader of the X-Men, whether Wolverine liked it or not. It would be a bad move to crash early and let them go and have fun without them. He needed to socialize. It felt like it had been forever since he last _hung out_ with his teammates without Jean there to act as the social lubricant.

It was that one, brief moment of hesitation that left Scott wondering what he’d gotten himself into as he stepped into the sealed off games room, Pete locking the door behind them. The room had the stench of smoke in the air, obviously one of Wolverine’s cigars, though when their eyes locked, he realized it was probably a stale smell — he hadn’t smoked in here in years. Scott narrowed his eyes. When was the last time he was in here?

Like the kitchen had been, the room was deserted except for the cluster of people sitting around the table. At one end was Wolverine himself, wearing a thick leather jacket over what looked like a wifebeater. He regarded Cyclops coolly as he entered, seemingly more interested in the sandwiches Peter had brought than in addressing the other man. 

Pete set the tray down on a small side table, already spread with chips, candy, but most importantly, six cases of beer stacked against the wall. He sat down in the empty seat to Logan’s left, next to Bobby Drake — _Iceman_. “Hey, bossman,” he said with a wave and a nod. 

“Who invited this buzzkill?” The voice was arrogant and aloof, coming from the seat across from Bobby, an empty seat next to him. Julian Keller, one of the students at the institute, was leaning forward on the table, two metallic hands in place of where the organic ones should have been. He already had two empty cans of beer in front of him.

“You’re underage,” Scott said, living up to his reputation. “And it’s past curfew.”

Hellion laughed. “Nineteen, actually—and Wolverine here’s Canadian. Pretty sure that’s the drinking age there, right?” He glanced over, and Logan gave him a nod, a snarl of a laugh escaping the corner of his mouths. “And it’s, what, seven-thirty? I’ve got plenty of time.”

Scott approached the table, sitting in the empty chair next to Keller, turning to acknowledge the fifth figure in the room, sitting at the foot of the table, shuffling a deck of cards with expert precision. “You buyin’ in, beau?” Gambit asked, a devilish grin on his face. “Twenty bucks.”

With a sigh, the leader of the X-Men stood again, rummaging through his pocket to pull out his wallet and, with it, a twenty dollar bill, handing it to Remy, who set down the cards just long enough to pocket it and wink at him. “Just kidding, of course. You owe me twenty for buyin’ Rogue’s birthday present.” The table seemed to laugh in an easy chorus together, and Scott forced himself to chuckle along with it, though he was fairly certain that he’d already paid back the swamp rat for the gift. 

“We all knows the rules, yeah?” the cajun man asked as he began to deal cards round the group. “Best five cards, can trade in once per hand. At the end of the round, person with the worst combination’s gotta take off one piece of clothin’.” Scott’s head snapped in his direction, then around the rest of the faces, nobody seemed surprised. Again, he didn’t question or argue it, just made a mental note to get out of there as soon as he possibly could.

“I’m gonna need a beer,” he muttered, leaving his cards in front of him as he got out of his chair, grabbing one of the sandwiches as well, stuffing a bite into his mouth. Nobody seemed to be waiting for him to start the game, with Bobby already drawing a new set of cards with a scowl on his face. As he returned to his seat, Piotr offered back one card to the pile, drawing a replacement. Wolverine had a smirk on his face as he shook his head, setting down his cards and letting Julian go, who discarded three.

By the time Scott’s turn came, he had even looked at his hand and, when he did, he frowned. All over the place. He chose four of the cards to discard, drawing for new ones, but it wasn’t much better. A pair of sixes. Remy went last, getting rid of two cards and replacing them. When he had finished, he glanced around the table. “Four aces,” he said with a grin. The rest of the table went around, showing their hands. Bobby had ace high, Piotr three of a kind. Logan smirked, sitting pretty on a flush of diamonds. Julian only had a pair of twos, but with Bobby’s luck, he lost the first hand. 

There was a chatter of heckles and laughs as Bobby stood up defiantly, pretending to storm off. “You guys cheated,” he said, lifting up one foot and pulling off the sock that covered it. “I’m not about to forget this.”

From there, the game continued as normal, no one player making any significant gains on the others. By the time the first half hour was up, they’d all lost their socks, and Logan had lost his jacket. The beer was flowing, the sandwiches were being eaten, and even Scott had to admit he was enjoying himself. There had been some apprehension, now that the socks were gone and the big guns were soon to come out, but he’d had enough beers to think better of finding an excuse to leave. They’d all see right through it now.

“Read ‘em and weep,” Logan said, putting down a jack-high straight. Julian put down his hand, ten high. Scott showed his full house, and Remy had a pair of sixes, leaving Julian as the loser of the round. Everybody seemed a bit on edge for a moment, expecting him to take off his shirt, but after a brief hesitation, he pulled off one of the metallic hands he used as prosthetic, setting it down. 

“Barely need ‘em anyway,” he joked, “if I take them both off, I can still use my powers to hold up my cards.” 

Another hand was dealt out and dealt with quickly, the rhythm of the game no longer ambling and awkward. They weren’t drunk, but two of the two-fours had been emptied and the stack was growing higher by the turn. Pete lost the next hand, and with no fake arms to remove, he let out a quiet sigh, reaching for the collar of his shirt. 

Iceman let out a playful holler as it was pulled off, Colossus’ washboard abs and overflowing muscle being put on display before them. He ran a hand sheepishly down his chest, face turning a light tint of pink. There was nothing more to be said, everybody taking a moment to admire the body, but calling no more attention to it than required. Remy dealt another hand, and things went quickly back to normal.

Over the next few turns, Bobby lost his shirt, paling in comparison to the body builder frame next to him. Keller lost another hand, and the room soon had a soft glow as the pink of his telekinesis was used to hold up his cards in front of his face, a stupid grin tugging at his lips — he was the most drunk of them all, and it was starting to show. Remy lost his jacket and his shirt in two turns, ginger-brown hair dotting his chest and abdomen, but it was nothing compared to Wolverine’s burly, hair-ridden body that he showed off with a hint of pride. Even though he had been in just a tank before, as soon as he pulled off the shirt, the whole room seemed to change to suit his musk — leather, beer, sweat all mingling together.

Hellion was forced to use his powers to help remove his shirt, though only after Bobby had insisted, red in the face, that he could help him in pulling it off. It left Scott as the most clothed one in the room, and for that he was eternally grateful. It was nearing nine o’clock, now, and the gameplay was impacted by their inability to hold attention. He figured it would end in a couple of turns, just enough to get somebody out of their pants to have a good laugh before calling it a night, or changing around to watch some tv, or a movie, and finish off the beer.

After trading in two cards to secure a two-pair, Scott noticed Remy smiling before turning in his entire hand, drawing a fresh set and nodding to himself. Hands were shown and, sure enough, Gambit had only drawn a pair of threes, not enough to beat the rest of the group. Like when Peter had pulled off his shirt, there were playful catcalls, especially from Bobby’s corner. Putting on a show, Remy stood up, devilish grin on his face. His hands ran up his thigh, settling on his waist, undoing the button of his trousers, sliding down the zipper. In one fluid movement, he was left in just a pair of tight briefs, pants around his ankles, kicking them off and leaving them in a pool on the floor. Before sitting back down, he made a point of squeezing his crotch, laughing.

“Alright guys,” Scott said abruptly, just as Gambit began dealing out another round of cards. “Last hand? Think it’s about time we called it.”

Bobby shot him a look of concern. “You know if you call the game, you’re the loser, right?”

“Sure, I don’t care,” Scott said, shrugging. He was starting to feel rather overdressed compared to his teammates, the sooner he could get out, the better. 

Laughing, Hellion picked up his five cards. “You _don’t_ want to be the loser, Scott. Being the loser’s never fun.”

“Hey now,” Gambit cut in, grinning. “I was hoping to lose on purpose this week.” 

Scott just glanced between them, brow furrowed slightly. “I’m getting tired. I kinda just want to go to bed.” He looked at Logan, who seemed to be grinning into his can of beer. “I don’t mind losing, you guys can keep playing.”

“Oh, trust me, bub,” he said, “we’re gonna keep playin’.”

When his turn came, Scott traded in three of his cards, ending up with a pair of sevens. Remy discarded just the one, and the final hand of the game played out. It looked like Pete was going to be the one losing his clothes, with just a king high, but Remy revealed a queen high, shrugging. “Bad luck,” he joked, standing up again. Scott kept his head eyes tilted down, though from the corner of his eyes he could see Gambit pulling down his briefs. Bobby hooted and hollered, laughing hysterically, and Scott decided that was his cue to leave. Pushing his chair back, he turned away, blocking out the view next to him.

“Looks like we got two big losers this week,” Wolverine said, voice low. Scott considered flipping him the bird, but he’d already reached the door and started to turn the handle, only to find it resisting him. He groaned, wondering why the door was allowed to be so jammed, and why nobody had fixed it, when he heard footsteps approaching him from behind. 

He started to turn, the words ‘It’s stuck’ already half formed in his lips, when he felt the forceful push, slamming him into the wooden doors. The familiar smell of Wolverine graced him with its presence, strong hands holding him back despite his attempted to break free. “Thought you said you wanted to get this over with, bub?” he asked, voice deep. He turned Scott around so they were face to face, just a few inches from each other. “So where do you think you’re goin’?”

“Bed,” Scott argued, trying to push himself free, but Wolverine was stronger than he was, pinned against the door.

“Petey not tell you what happens when we’re done playin’ poker for the night?”

“Pete didn’t tell me much of anything.” 

Logan smirked. “When the gals are away, us boys get to play.” One of the Wolverine’s hands released Scott’s, but quickly snapped back down as Cyclops reacted by raising his hands to the glasses that shielded his eyes from optic blasts. “Keller, we’re gonna need you to hold old Cyke here still for a sec.” 

“Yes, sir,” Hellion said, stepped up behind, both still without their shirts on. Cyclops felt the sensation of telekinesis holding him back, his body going limp on him. He struggled to move free, but the psionic hold was too strong on his body. It allowed Logan to removed his hands, and claws shot out of his knuckles with a sharp, metallic _snikt_. The tip of one claw came perilously close to Scott’s throat, and he wanted to argue and shout and protest, but he couldn’t speak. The hand lowered, though, grazing just over the skin of his neck until it reached the loose-fitting shirt he was still wearing. It cut into the fabric, a straight line down the centre of his chest, but all Scott could do was stare into the smiling face staring him down.

“Petey, get our guest a chair. You didn’t tell him about what happens after. Maybe for now he should just watch.” 

Somewhere behind them, Scott heard the sound of scraping wood on the floor, and the panic in him started to grow—what the hell was going on? He felt his body start to walk without his permission, and they moved to the centre of the room. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stave off the psychic invasion of his mind, but Keller was stronger than he’d ever given the kid credit for. He felt Wolverine push him into the chair provided, still telekinetically frozen in place. “You’re missin’ out, bub. Best part of the night, too.” 

Wolverine stepped to the side, allowing Scott full view of the action. The table had been cleared, and the group had all left their chairs. Gambit was fully naked, still, and fully erect to boot. Bobby and Pete, both coming around from their side of the table, were starting to undo their pants. Scott couldn’t protest, he couldn’t move.

“On your knees, swamp rat,” Logan muttered, turning around, his own hands undoing the belt that held up his jeans. He pulled them down, his bare, hairy ass plump and round. From his vantage point, Scott could only just make out the tip of his dick, and he turned away to avoid seeing more of it.

Bobby’s pants came down next, closely followed by Pete’s. Despite the difference in body size, Iceman’s member hung three inches lower than Colossus’, the biggest of the group. Last came Keller’s, the smallest, youngest member of the assembly, and it showed, though it was still an impressive sight, one that Cyclops was purposely missing.

Despite looking down at the ground, he saw from his peripheries Gambit falling to his knees, his hardened cock pressing against his thigh. The group settled around him, and it fully occurred to Scott what was going on. Bobby was stroking himself, trying to get himself hard, and the rest of them seemed to be doing the same. All but Remy, who looked around patiently, but there was a hunger in his eyes. 

Piotr took the plunge first. He stepped forward, cock at face level for the crouching thief, and took both of his hands at the back of the other man’s head. Gambit knew what to do, and stuck his lips around the man’s package, taking it in in an impressive gulp. Bobby moved closer, and Remy put one fist around the girth, stroking it. Wolverine approached as well, and the same was done with the other hand. Only Julian remained at the side, standing naked with his arms at his side, the metallic prosthetics still on the floor. Still, he was at full mask, just watching the group around him. 

Bobby noticed him and moved to the side, freeing his cock from Gambit’s hands, gesturing for him to come over. Keller seemed nervous, but he approached, and expertly Gambit began to stroke the shaft. The moan that escaped Hellion’s lips was orgasmic, so full of pleasure and relief. It had been a long time since he’d felt skin against his cock — metal hands were nice and all, but there was a disconnect there, the nerve endings from flesh mingling with his, it sent a chill down his spine. “Fuck,” he muttered, and Bobby clapped him on the shoulder, leaning in. Their lips connected heavily, and Iceman’s second hand rested itself on the small of the student’s back. 

The room, which had been so loud and raucous just minutes before, went quiet, punctured only by the moans and groans and gags of the group. Cyclops tried to ignore it all, but even distracted, Keller’s hold on his body was solid. He could only roll his head, and after a moment, the curiosity got the best of him, and he looked up, a mix of horror, fear, and excitement filling the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to leave or if he wanted to join in, but either way, he was stuck, unable to ask even if he wanted to. 

Gambit’s mouth slid up and down the length of Pete’s cock expertly, pulling off with a pant and turning his head round to take in Bobby’s hungrily. His fingers flexed and squeezed around Wolverine and Hellion, as Pete massaged himself, tilting his head back and letting out a loud moan. Bobby pulled his lips away from Julian’s, both of them exhaling at the same time, their breath visible in a chilly vapour emitted from Iceman’s power, grinning wickedly. “Welcome to the club, Keller,” he said, quickly kissing him again, teeth biting down on the other’s lower lip. 

Wolverine glanced over his shoulder, a vicious look on his face as he made eye contact with Cyclops, and after a moment pulled himself away from the group. His cock swollen and pink-tipped, a modest five inches but thick as a bat. He took a few casual strides towards him. “Keller, let the man talk.” 

As Remy readjusted himself, taking Julian’s cock in his hungry mouth, Pete and Bobby’s grasped firmly in his hand, Cyclops found himself able to speak again. He struggled in silence for a moment, awash with different options, settling finally with, “What the fuck?”

Logan only smirked. “This is what we do on boys nights. There’s a reason we don’t invite you. Always a buzzkill. But you showed up, gotta play by our rules.” There was some menace in his voice as he moved closer. “You got two options. You can watch or you can join in. There’s no third choice.” 

“I’ve got a wife,” he said, voice indignant.

“And Pete’s got a girlfriend. So do Remy and Bobby. What makes you so special?” Scott responded with silence. “So, what’s your choice? Do we gotta gag you again so you don’t make a fuss or you gonna let me gag you myself?” Logan moved closer, so close he was practically straddling over Cyclops on the chair. His hand reached down, his short, hairy, pudgy arm, and grabbed the slight bulge showing in Scott’s pants, squeezing it. 

He shuddered at the touch — it was so different than anything he felt with Jean, who was so tender and careful. This was visceral, animalistic. Logan didn’t care about his happiness, he just wanted his dick sucked. “I’m not gay.”

“Nobody said you were.” Wolverine paused. “That a yes?”

“Let me go.”

“Can’t do that,” he answered. “Don’t trust you just yet, might run off on us. Gotta initiate you before we can let you go.” The firm hands took Scott by the shoulders and pulled him off the chair. He felt stiff and rigid, but his body folded and bent as normal. His knees hit the ground without any pain. Without waiting for confirmation he was ready, Scott felt the meaty head of Wolverine’s cock pressing against his closed lips.

And against all better judgement, Cyclops opened them to let it enter.

It was his first time doing anything like this, and he knew Wolverine was hardly the type to ease him into the feeling. In the span of a few seconds, Scott felt the strong, calloused hands of his teammate gripping to his hair, hips starting to thrust into his lips. The glasses on his face were pushed aside, and Scott was forced to squeeze his eyes shut as he heard them clatter to the floor. Instinctively, he tried to reach for them, but his body was frozen, his mouth gagged by Logan, and he was suddenly at the mercy of his teammates.

The moist tip pressed against the back of his gullet, and he involuntary let out a gagged cough, spit coating the shaft. His tongue seemed naturally adept to the task, knowing how Jean did it for him, and trying to emulate those feelings. He couldn’t look up, couldn’t gauge Logan’s reaction, but the thrusting of the hips grew more powerful, and in between choking gags he could hear something of a moan. 

“My turn, cher?” Gambit’s voice was deep and hoarse, but as cocky as ever — he must have been done his share of losing for the time being. Scott realized had he not said anything, maybe he wouldn’t be in this position right now, but his brain struggled to rectify whether that would have been a good thing or a bad thing, all things considered. 

“He’s all yours, cajun,” Wolverine responded, and the fists holding his hair released, and he pulled out. Cyclops’ mouth hungered for more, panting for breath before the next body entered him.

“Glasses—” he spat out, unable to say more than that, lungs compressing. 

“They’re all the way down there, beau,” Remy replied, and once again Scott felt the now all-too familiar feeling of having hands gripping into his hair. “But worry not, Gambit will be gentle with you.” One hand released the follicles and helped raised the stiff cock up slightly to Scott’s mouth, which hung agape, lips red and swollen already. He tasted the head on the tip of his tongue, hungrily lapping it up. His body leaned forward, the only movement he was capable of doing, and he heard Gambit chuckle. His hips bucked in and out, much more gently than Logan had done, but it was longer, not quite as thick, and it threatened his gag reflex as it tried to snake down into his windpipe. 

Tears stung at his eyes, but Scott resisted the urge to open them, knowing he’d blow an optic blast clear through Gambit’s body at this close range. His mouth pulled away, coughing, gagging, and Remy gave him the space he needed, patting his shoulder. “You did good, mon ami.” 

“Th—thanks?” he retorted, struggling for air still, throat constricted.

His body went limp, then, and he fell forward. Scott could feel the movement regained in his nerves and muscles, and for a flash of a second everything hurt, and then it went numb again, but — yes, a cursory flex of his toes told him he could move again. He’d collapsed onto all fours, and his first act of movement was to locate and replace his glasses. Then, with a clear view of the world, he took in the changed surroundings — Julian and Bobby seemed to be off in their own little world, a few feet away from the rest of the group, bodies connected at the lips, Bobby stroking both of their cocks together. Pete had perched himself on the table, watching the proceedings. 

Logan seemed to notice that he’d regained his movement ability, and seemed a bit on edge, as if expecting him to run at any moment, but instead, as he struggled to his feet, he hobbled in Wolverine’s direction, nearly falling forward onto him, but catching himself on the backs of one of the games room couches. His hands went to his belt buckle, pulling it clean off and dropping it on the sofa, before undoing his jeans. Logan watched, clearly curious, as Cyke’s pants dropped to the ground and he shrugged off the shirt that had been ripped down the centre on him.

“Think you can return the favour?”

“‘Fraid not, bub,” Logan said, though admiring the sight. “You lost. And it’s your initiation into the club. You don’t get to blow a load till all the rest of us do.” The smirk grew, and both hands took hold of him round the shoulders. Despite being able to move, Scott allowed it to happen, the warm hands holding him steady. “Petey, Remy, get your asses over here. Let’s break him in.”

He felt the tug on his arm, and Wolverine led Scott towards one of the couches. Colossus met them halfway, and seemed to lead the charge from then on — he took hold of Scott’s body, and was the one who sat on the couch first. He pulled Scott closer, knocking him down, angling his body slightly. “Suck,” he commanded in one word, and from all fours Scott climbed onto the couch and started sucking off the russian giant.

Next, he felt Wolverine’s hand on his bare ass, smooth and round, toned from years of training and field work. His fingers were thick and hard, and without hesitation one slipped into the tight, virgin hole, puckering around the digit. Scott dipped forward and let out a muffled moan — he’d never had anything up there before, and Logan was above the idea of a learning curve. Another finger pressed in, up against the first, and together they spread and dug, trying to loosen it up. Scott’s movements became more jarred and ragged as he tried to deal with the stimulation, but Piotr seemed in no hurry, content to have the lips enveloped around him. 

“Been wantin’ to do this a long time, bub,” Logan said cryptically, but Scott was having trouble focusing his ears — focusing anything, really. He felt a third finger enter, and the hole screamed in pain, his whole lower body searing, but once he got past the initial shock, he found himself craving more — and more he got.

The fingers removed themselves for a moment, only to reenter a moment later, this time moistened, lubricating the whole. Scott knew where this was headed, and he was panicking internally, but everything seemed to be okay so far. Red flags were rising second by second, but nothing yet made him want to turn and head for the hills. After being given ample time to adjust, he felt himself getting pulled back.

“Oh, come on, it was just getting good—” Pete argued, laughing, and winking at Scott as he found himself pressed against the arm of the couch. 

“Lucky for you, then, you get to fuck him first.” Those were the words he’d been dreading. “Keller, Drake, get your asses over here. Time to break in Cyke.”

They pulled themselves apart, both rather red in the face as they did, and crossed towards the couch, where they had all gathered. Scott looked around at them — he could trust them, right? They did this all the time, right? Pete’s face had remained amiable as he leaned back against the cushion, keeping eye contact with Scott. “Your first time, my friend?” Scott nodded. “I promise to be gentle, then.”

“I don’t,” Bobby pointed out, grinning. “Gotta get payback for all those times he rammed my ass in training.”

Pete waved Scott over, and hesitantly he stood, knees weak, and moved closer. Pete took him by the hand, almost gently, and pulled him between his spread legs. “Alright, on the couch.” Colossus slid down slightly, his ass almost hanging over the cushion, dick standing fully erect. He helped Scott stand on the sagging couch, and pulled him down, kneeling him over. One hand let go, wrapping around his cock, angling it. He could feel the bare tip pressing against his swollen hole. “Relax,” he said softly, grinning. “And sit.” 

He did as he was told. It stung — it _killed_ — and he let out a quiet scream. It hurt like nothing he’d felt before, and he’d been at the receiving end of a sentinel’s brute force. Pete’s hands guided him further down until he reached the end. It took longer than he’d expected, easing him down, but he was too distracted by the pain to pay much attention to anything else. Piotr bucked his hips up, digging deeper, and Scott shuddered, a chill racing down the whole of his spine. From there, he started a slow rhythm of thrusts, and with each upturn of his hips, he eased Scott down, and they fully interlocked for a few brief seconds before repeating the motions. Scott saw that everybody else was jerking to it, Bobby especially getting into it, biting down heavily on his bottom lip.

It didn’t take him long to feel the need to jump in. Scott turned his head to follow as Iceman left his field of vision, but it took too much cognitive process to keep track of him. He let him vanish, but he wasn’t gone for very long. He felt two hands on his bare back, and then lips at his neck. “It’s about to hurt even more, by the way. Try not to cry.”

Scott couldn’t promise anything, and even if he could, his voice was caught in his throat, so overwhelmed. Bobby pulled away a second later, and Scott thought he’d walked away, but the hands reconnected on his hips, and a quick swivel of the head made him realize that Bobby was crouching behind him. It didn’t occur to him what was happening until he felt it — a second cock attempting to probe him. It grazed along the skin of his ass cheeks, pressing against Piotr’s, who had to stop his measured thrusting to allow the intrusion. Bobby was the biggest of the bunch, surprisingly so, and even before it began Scott knew he was in for a world of pain.

The initial piercing took his breath away and made his heart stop — both heavily romanticized gestures that are far more painful than anybody would have you believe. His whole world went black as his vision clouded over from the scalding pain. Bobby inched his way in, and the swelling of the two cocks in his tight, unrefined ass tore him a new one. “Fuck! _Oh shit,_ ” he hissed, realizing he was talking way too loud but entirely uncaring. Scott fell forward, hands pressed against Pete’s pecs to hold him steady, but his arms were shaking. 

Behind him, Bobby let out a harsh laugh as he pumped himself further in. Every movement he made impacted Pete’s moves, and they found a synchronicity quickly. Scott was forced to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from screaming, throat drying out and tightening. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Bobby said, after a particularly hard hit in. “So fucking tight, bro.” 

It was Julian who was next unable to resist the temptation. He hopped up onto the couch, clear over the back boards, and the cushions gave way under his added weight. He nudged Scott straight up, straddling over Pete’s body, standing tall. “Suck it, bitch,” he said with a laugh. “Always wanted to say that,” he added, turning himself forward. Scott obliged his student, now supporting himself on Keller’s thighs, leaning in and engulfing his cock in his mouth, grateful for every last drop of precum available to quench the dryness in his throat. His moans became muffled, but more frequent as Pete and Bobby found a rhythm they both seemed to enjoy. Piotr’s hands left Scott’s body, letting Bobby do the supporting, and forcibly pulled Julian back, eating out his ass, pleasuring the boy from both sides now.

That left Remy and Logan, both standing at the sides. With all holes plugged, they did the next best thing. Logan climbed onto the couch, taking one of Scott’s hands from Julian’s lap and wrapping it around his swelling cock. Scott struggled to balance himself, with two shafts up the ass, another choking him, and now one in his hand, but Gambit sealed the deal as he followed suit, and Cyclops ended up spread eagle, supported only by his faith in his teammates and two legs that were threatening to give way underneath him.

“Thatta boy, Slim,” Wolverine growled, his voice deeper than usual, coarser. His hips bucked in turn with the strokes being made, throwing off Scott’s sense of balance even more. He retreated in upon himself, focused only on applying pleasure to all sides. He could feel Bobby trying to thrust faster, the hands gripping more tightly at his waist, and could hear Pete’s grunts beneath him, muffled by the sound of his tongue digging into Julian’s hole.

Bobby came first — it made sense, given how invested he’d been in the night from the start, and just how drunk he’d become over the past few hours. “Fuck, shit, fuck, man, fuck—dude, _fuck_ ,” he moaned, each word punctured with a powerful thrust into Scott’s hole, prodding against his prostate. The final word came with a sigh of relief, and a thick ooze of cum slamming up his body. Scott screamed, stifled in his sucking off Julian, but it was clear something had happened, as his hole body went rigid. Within a few seconds, Bobby had pulled himself out of Scott, panting for breath. That movement managed to screw up the balance of the whole house of cards, and Scott nearly fell back, but Iceman managed to catch him and hold him forward. 

Scott pulled his lips off of Julian and struggled to fill his lungs with air. His hands slackened around Remy and Wolverine, who both pulled away, and everybody stepped back for a moment. Pete removed himself from the red, swollen, leaking hole, grinning from ear to ear. Cyclops struggled to stand, supported by Remy for the few steps he could take before crashing on the couch. 

“Think your hole’s had enough of a beating for one night?” Wolverine asked, smirking. He could only nod in response. “Then you best sit still and let us finish off.”

He didn’t know what to expect anymore, but he also knew better than to question it. He tilted his head back, body crashed against the nook in the arm of the couch and its back. Everybody seemed to get up and, Bobby included, circled themselves around him. All of their hands cupped their dicks in them, stroking furiously. They pressed in close, all of their shafts aiming for the spent body beneath them.

Bobby came first, once again, a tiny amount that barely just slipped over his knuckles and fingers and dripped plainly onto Scott’s leg. Pete followed suit, a massive load shot straight at the man’s face, catching him on the cheek, in the mouth, and coating his glasses in a milky white wash. Remy’s warm load streaked on Scott’s chest, dribbling down his abs and pooling just above his naval. Wolverine moved before shooting his, brushing past Pete and aim it straight in the open mouth, basically standing over his boss and delivering the ultimate fuck you. Globs of hot white cum coated Scott’s tongue, his nose, and his forehead, his face burning under the combination of fluids. Keller was last, struggling to keep up, muffled groans escaping his lips. The rest of the group watched, encouraging him on, Bobby going so far as to stand behind him and help. The ropes slid out of his closed palm and onto Scott’s shoulder and chest, and he let out a scream as he released. 

There was an awkward moment of silence as the group caught its collective breath. They looked around at one another and, without speaking, dispersed through the room, everybody going to grab their clothing. Scott could hardly move, sitting stranded on the couch, trying to turn his head to the group. “Uh, guys? A little help?”

It was Wolverine who answered him, laughing. “Sorry, bub, rules are rules. You’re the fresh meat. Gotta beat it yourself.” He came close again, pulling on his muscle shirt, still exposed below the waist. “And just so you know, I think the movie club’s got the room booked for eleven. You’ve got about ten minutes before they show. Best of luck.”

With a throaty laugh, he turned away to grab his pants, and finally the panic set in as Scott struggled to get to his feet.

“Same time next week?” Bobby asked, some eagerness in his voice.

“I’ll be here,” Julian said, though something in his tone suggested he’d be with Bobby again before the week was out.

“Of course, chers.” 

“I’m in,” Wolverine said.

“I would not miss it,” Pete concluded.

“What about you, Slim?”

Scott struggled to his feet, turning around, unable to see anything through the cum-stained glasses on his face, but he looked in the direction in which he thought Wolverine was standing. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he muttered, limping towards the table. “And trust me when I say, Logan, I’m going to make sure you lose. Big time.” 


End file.
